


once your're concerned because someone's not mad at you for speaking your mind you realize the place you're working at is even weirder than you thought

by possessedradios



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Gen, I assure you I hate the length of this title even more than you do, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, featuring Maxwell being rude riGHT IN FRONT OF RACHEL'S SALAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 09:57:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13432287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possessedradios/pseuds/possessedradios
Summary: Maybe, Maxwell will think hours later, the only reason Rachel Young had to join her for her lunch break was that she was bored.Plus, salad day, the stupid fountain on Goddard's campus, Jacobi's horrible way of texting, Kepler caring and one (1) Doctor Who joke.





	once your're concerned because someone's not mad at you for speaking your mind you realize the place you're working at is even weirder than you thought

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Projecting all my stuff (including my hatred for most kinds of salad) on Alana Maxwell ~~and praying she didn’t become too OOC in the process~~? It’s more likely th–
> 
> Anyway!! Written for thought, who sent me the prompts "I don't like salad. Or eye contact." and "Murder isn't on today's agenda." - "It isn't on anyone's agenda." - "No, it is on mine, just not before next Tuesday." for Rachel and Maxwell. I somehow smashed both into this thing.

Maxwell is inclined to ignore the buzzing of her phone, but then the sharp sound of it vibrating on top of the table cuts through the soft background sound of the music she put on again. And again. And again. And again. She sighs and leans back in her chair. Her back makes a protesting sound she should probably be concerned about, but she ignores it and grabs her phone instead.

‘Jacobi’, the screen reads, and ‘5 messages’.

_i don’t get time zones but kepler said its lunch time in canaveral &that i should tell u 2 go eat smth_

_also said 2 tell u that he means real food not just ur trashy power snack energy bars. he says its salad day in the cafeteria. says u should go outside for 10 mins. says it can b an order if u need it 2 b_

_he long story shorted me twice i crave death whys he so full of shit_

_srs tho go eat_

_gtg_

She sighs and puts the phone down again, rubbing at her face. Her vision is a little blurry and she can feel an impending headache; a dull throbbing somewhere deep in the back of her skull, which is probably proof that she really should get out of the lab and away from the screen for just a few minutes, but she hates it when Kepler’s right, so she considers just going back to working on her code for at least a little while. The possibility that Kepler himself might text her in half an hour or so to ask what kind of salad she ate is annoying, though, because she knows for a fact that he’ll know if she just texts back some made-up bullshit, because he somehow _always_ knows.

“Doctor Maxwell, are you alright?” Hestia’s voice comes from the speaker, and she nods quickly.

“Yes, thank you. I’m just– I’ll go grab something to eat.”

“That’s a good idea. It’s sunny out, maybe you could–”

She sighs and glares at her phone as if it was Kepler’s fault; as if he had somehow managed to influence her lab’s AI from a continent away. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go outside. Fresh air and all that. It’s salad day, I know.”

She’s two steps out of the lab when she feels bad for snapping at Hestia. By the time she’s standing in line to pay for the sandwich she picked (ignoring the salads on display) she’s played the apology she’ll offer through in her head a few times, confident that Hestia will accept it.

It’s warm outside, and the sun on her skin feels good and a little weird at the same time; unfamiliar. She lets her eyes wander around the campus for a bit. Goddard _does_ a good job with the whole recreation thing, she thinks. Lots of trees, picnic tables, even a goddamn fountain, as if anyone working here actually had the time to stand there and admire it. She sits down at one of the tables, unwrapping her lunch and shoving the plastic wrap between two of the wooden beams so the wind won’t blow it away. When she tries to grab her phone, her hand comes back empty, because _of course_ she forgot it in the lab. Ten minutes, she reminds herself. Kepler said ten minutes. That’s acceptable. Enough time to finish eating, too.

“My, my. Weird, seeing you all alone. And outside as well.”

Maxwell, mouth full of the first bite of her sandwich, tenses immediately at the sound of a voice she doesn’t recognize – and from right _behind_ her. She turns her head, but the person belonging to the voice has already stepped away and– sits down at the other side of the table.

“I’m sure you don’t mind some company?”

Maxwell reminds herself to swallow down her food first, then, eloquently, makes “Uhm.” She notices the dozen or so vacant tables nearby, and while wondering whether it’d be rude or _very_ rude to tell the woman to fuck off – preferably with some nicer words – she realizes that the voice wasn’t completely unfamiliar. She has seen her before – long, dark brown hair and sharp eyes, half a smile on her face, amused and something else she can’t place. Young. Rachel Young. She’s seen her talk to Kepler, heard her laugh at him. Categorized, in her head, as ‘Kepler doesn’t like her’ and ‘working close with Cutter’ and ‘always very very busy’.

She doesn’t seem busy now, though, as she sets the plastic container down in front of her. Salad. Salad day. Right.

“I don’t mind eating alone,” Maxwell finally manages.

“My bad,” Young says, all smiles and sunshine, while getting out a plastic fork. Maxwell looks down at her sandwich, surrendering herself to the fact that Young won’t leave and she won’t say anything. “I just never saw you alone. Always hanging around with– mh, what was his name again? Warren’s little lapdog.”

Maxwell blinks, brain short-circuiting for a second. “Warren,” she repeats, and then processes Young’s other words. “And, hey! Jacobi’s not his lapdog!”

“Ahh, _Mister Jacobi_ , right. Sure looks like it,” Young shrugs, still smiling. “And – yes, Warren. He hates when I call him that, so I try to do it as often as possible.”

Maxwell slowly takes another bite and tries to think of something she can say in return, but nothing comes to her mind that wouldn’t start a fight about whether or not Jacobi should be called Kepler’s lapdog, and she’s afraid she might run out of compelling arguments about halfway through a discussion, so she just stays quiet instead. At least for a few seconds. The silence gets uncomfortable after that. She doesn’t really like being forced into conversations, especially ones she didn’t anticipate before, but being quiet in someone else’s company makes her feel even more uneasy.

“So, uh, how’s the salad?” she asks, feeling just a little stupid while doing it, and stares at her sandwich.

“You know, you could at least look at me while struggling with small talk,” Young says casually, and Maxwell grits her teeth and tries to suppress the sudden spark of red-hot anger in her stomach, because it’s barely justified (and also because she’s pretty sure Young technically qualifies as her superior – she doesn’t really get the hierarchy surrounding Cutter, Young and Kepler, and she’s never been presented an organization chart, so she can only guess.)

“And the salad is good. You should have tried it.”

Maxwell looks up and deliberately stares into Young’s eyes. “I don’t like salad. Or eye contact.” She keeps staring, and Young looks back, unimpressed.

“I see,” she says. “I’m sure Warren has a lot of opinions on that.”

“What do you mean? Why should he care about whether I eat salad or–”

Young sighs; an exasperated sound, as if she said something incredibly stupid, and the anger is back in only a split second. Who the hell does she think she is?

“Not that. The thing with the eye contact. Avoiding it is generally considered rude.” Young eats another bite, then continues when Maxwell refuses to say anything. “It’s important to him that his agents can…” Beat, and another smile. “...at least _act_ as if they were normal human beings. Probably to compensate for his own lack of skill in that regard.”

“That’s not– Major Kepler is _very_ good at it. He’s a good actor,” she says, and then several things happen inside her head all at once and she needs a few seconds to grasp them all.

One, _Why is your first impulse to come to Kepler’s defense; he wouldn’t do the same thing and he’s awful and you don’t have to; he’s a whole ocean away_ ,

Two, _Wait, did she just insinuate you’re not actually a human being_ ,

Three, _I guess I should care about that, right, I should probably be offended she’d insinuate that, not passively agree by concentrating on a whole other aspect of her statement_ ,

Four, _Oh, well_.

Young looks amused, as if she could read her mind, and considering the large amount of time she seems to spend with Cutter, Maxwell isn’t entirely sure she can’t. It’s unlikely, and she’s about 98% convinced things like mind reading don’t even exist, but– still.

“So, did he train you to look into other’s eyes already? You started doing field work with him … what – four months ago? Honeymoon period over, I’d guess, right?”

Maxwell huffs. “There was no _honeymoon period_ ; no he did not – I’m well capable of looking into other’s eyes, I just don’t like it –; and you, Miss Young, are being rude and I don’t like you.”

For a few seconds the anger inside of her gets overrun by sheer panic – that’s exactly why she doesn’t like conversations she didn’t anticipate; that’s exactly why she likes to plan her words beforehand; she always ends up saying stupid, _stupid_ things, and–

And Young laughs.

“Oh, you’re cute, Doctor Maxwell! I think I see why Warren likes you.”

Maxwell doesn’t know how to react to that.

Part of her is thinking ‘Why isn’t she angry’, another part is thinking ‘Kepler likes me because I’m smart and intelligent and because I know how to handle a sniper’s rifle’, but that last bit reminds her of the most recent mission she was on with him – honeymoon period over indeed – and she feels a little sick, so she just keeps her mouth shut.

She’s a little proud when she succeeds and then she feels a little bad about feeling proud of something like that.

“He does have a knack for finding just the right people for his team,” Young adds. “You do seem to fit together with him and Mister Jacobi perfectly.” She somehow manages to make it sound like an insult. “They’ll be somewhere in India until next week, won’t they? Must be hard for you – surely you miss them?”

“Actually, no,” Maxwell says, partially because she doesn’t, partially because Young’s words make it sound as if missing them would be a bad but unsurprising thing and she doesn’t want others to think she’s _predictable_. “It’s kind of nice, being able to just do my work for once. I’m enjoying it.”

“I’m _sure_ you do.”

Young goes back to eating and is quiet for a while, just shooting her amused glances, and Maxwell, once again, scrambles for something to say. “... Anyway,” she mutters before finally taking another bite out of her sandwich as well, and then, in a sudden fit of half-childish defiance, asks through the mouthful of food, “how’s work going, Miss Young?” If she’s being called rude, she might just as well go with it.

Young does look irritated (and some small part of her thinks ‘Kepler would be proud of me’) – but only for a split second. The next moment she’s smiling that half-smile again. “Good,” she says, “very busy. Lots and lots of fun, impossible tasks that I’ll work through somehow.”

Maxwell considers that answer for a moment and then slowly leans forward, lowering her voice. There’s no one in their direct proximity, but – it’s Goddard Futuristics, and working together with Kepler has made her already existent paranoid tendencies worse. “You … are working closely with Cu– Mister Cutter, right?”

Young raises an eyebrow at her. “I am. Why?”

“Is he– Is he always so– you know.”

“Cheery to the point where it gets creepy and no one can explain exactly why?” she asks and Maxwell winces a little at her volume – she doesn’t seem to worry about the possibility that someone might overhear them at all. “Oh, absolutely. It’s no act, that’s just the way he is. Pray you never hear him use a serious tone in your presence – you won’t be hearing it for long, if you get what I mean.”

Maxwell absolutely does and somehow, she’s not surprised at all. “I hadn’t planned on getting on his bad side.”

“Good! That’s just perfect, because usually, I tend to be around when someone does, and it’s always such a bother. Murder wasn’t on today’s agenda, and I _hate_ having to reschedule appointments.” In the few moments of silence that follow, she finishes her salad.

“It’s not on anyone’s agenda, I think,” Maxwell says, a little irritated, and still overly aware of the fact that they’re outside, that it’s lunch break, that there are other people.

“Oh, no, it is on mine. Just not before next Tuesday.” Young winks at her, and Maxwell stares, frowning. She can’t tell whether that was a joke or not at all.

“Ah …” she says and then goes over Young’s words again, finding the part that irritated her eventually. “Wait, why did you say murder wasn’t on your agenda _today_? I don’t see Mister Cutter very often anyway, and–”

“Ah,” Young makes and reaches over to grab the plastic wrap Maxwell had shoved into the table, letting it drop into her empty food container. “Right. I actually came here to deliver a message. Doctor Pryce is interested in your work and wants to discuss something with you. Be in front of her office at 1500 – don’t knock, but don’t. Be. Late. Pro tip.”

“Doctor … who?” Maxwell asks, feeling completely lost at the sudden turn this conversation has taken.

“No, silly,” Young says while she gets up and smooths down her skirt with one hand. “Doctor _Pryce_. No time travel involved.” She shoots her another smile. “She’ll introduce herself to you, but if you’re nervous about it, why don’t you ask Warren? He’s met her. Have a nice day.”

And just like that, she’s gone, and Maxwell stares after her confused, wondering why in the world Young even took the time to sit with her, talk to her, if the only thing she really needed to do was deliver a message; wondering who that Doctor Pryce is and what she wants.

She should have just stayed inside, she thinks, takes a look at her sandwich and realizes she’s not even hungry. Sighing, she gets up and walks back inside.

‘Jacobi’, her phone reads, ‘8 messages’

and

‘Major Kepler’, ‘2 messages’

_hey u know what i wanna know. what idiot said its uncool 2 look @ explosions_

_i made that ofc im gonna look @ it_

_kepler asks if youve eaten_

_salad day_

_he once wrestled a dolphin_

_long story. ha ha. i still long for deaht_

_death_

_maxwelll im bored text me back_

and

_Have you eaten, Dr. Maxwell? Been outside, enjoyed the sun?_

_I can only assume you’re not answering my questions because you're too busy admiring the fountain located outside the building while eating one of the cafeteria’s excellent salads. I’m looking forward to your colorful and very detailed account of how relaxing your lunch break was._

She’s already put her phone away and is working on her code again when she realizes that she’s smiling – and then it takes her another two or three minutes to realize that god damn it, she does miss them.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is @possessed-radios, and my podcast sideblog is @shortwaveattentionspan; feel free to come talk to me about how horrible salad and eye contact and people suddenly standing behind you and the super long edgy titles I pick for my stuff again and again is/are!


End file.
